Therefore, to battle Amalek and its philosophy man had to be active. Hashem set out to prove that man’s actions do make a difference, and to that end G-d’s guiding hand was hidden, seemingly subservient to Moshe’s raised arms.
In summation, one could say Egypt believed that man never died, and Amalek believed man never lived. The question is: Which philosophy is more dangerous?
I would have thought that the Egyptian approach is far more toxic. For at least Amalek acknowledges that G-d exists, while Egypt denies even that most basic belief. However, the Torah seems to tell us differently. Ki yad al kes Kah, the Talmud explains that the throne of the Almighty cannot be truly established until Amalek is destroyed. Amalek is the only nation we are commanded to completely destroy. Why does the Torah see the culture of human futility as such a terrible threat to the spiritual health of the world?
Amalek realized a simple truth. Man cannot fight G-d. It realized that any direct confrontation with G-d will end with the same result every time: G-d wins. So it came up with a better plan. Instead of trying to deny G-d, deny man. For a king can only reign if he has subjects. If man is nothing then G-d may exist, but he has no home among the dwellers of our earth. It is precisely the throne of G-d, his role as our King, which Amalek seeks to destroy. It did not seek to reject the spiritual, rather to render it irrelevant. This type of battle, reasoned Amalek, is winnable.
The fight against Amalek is not G-d’s fight; it is ours. When battling Amalek, G-d hides His face and expects man to wage war for his own relevance. It is for this reason that Hashem’s name does not appear in the Purim story. The victory over Haman, the descendant of Amalek, must be secured through the apparent political maneuvering of Mordechai and Esther, and through their fasting and prayer. Hashem retreats to the shadows and from behind His veil waits for man to make his move.
It is a painful and dangerous process. Ethical dilemmas abound as moral clarity is elusive at best. How could Esther marry a non-Jew? Is Mordechai justified in incurring Haman’s anger? So much at stake, so little certainty. We strain our ears to receive the Divine command. But the heavens, for now, are silent. The silence, though, speaks volumes. It is Hashem saying, this is your time. Just as when we fought against Mitzrayim, I had said you be silent, now, in the fight against Amalek, the exact opposite must happen, lest you be silent. In this light, the perceived curse of Anochi histir astir es Panai may be seen not as Divine divestment but rather as a calling to man. It is our opportunity to display to the doubting world the strength of our conviction and our willingness to sacrifice for a truth to which we passionately cling.
In the morning, immediately upon concluding the Shema we begin the final blessing before the Amidah with the words emes v’yatziv, true and certain. We praise G-d because He is our source of truth and because He has evidenced that truth to us with strength and clarity. In the evening, we exchange the word yatziv with the word emunah, faithful. The difference between the two is the difference between day and night. Daytime symbolizes the times in our history when Hashem’s blessings are plentiful, His beneficence is apparent, and the truth of our covenant is certain. Night symbolizes the difficult, tragic times, when we struggle to see the Divine hand which guides us through the stormy seas. It is at these times that the word yatziv simply does not apply. Instead there is faith. It is not, however, our faith in G-d that we praise, but, rather, it is G-d’s faith in us that we extol. While the bright days allow for us to marvel at the glorious miracles Hashem reveals, the dark nights allow for Hashem’s people to demonstrate the greatness of His creation, the efforts of man.